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“This is fucking ridiculous,” Calax said. “Isn’t there a way we can get off this fucking highway.”
“Freeway,” Fallon corrected absently. “And language.”
I snorted as Calax’s face turned red.
Tuning out the argument I knew was about to transpire, I peered over Asher’s head. We really were trapped, I realized dumbly. With our car squeezed into the middle lane, a separate lane on either side of us, there was no way we could escape.
Unless, of course, we ran over other people and their cars.
Even the cars on the far right were trapped by a steep decline that lead to a vociferous forest. Though some of the cars could easily break apart the railing, the drop itself had the capacity to be deadly.
On the other side of the freeway, across the median, were even more cars. An adjacent forest blocked any access to and from the cluttered road.
My eyes were locked on those trees - leaves beginning to form on their once barren branches and the remains of fallen snow melting at their bases - when I saw the figure. He moved stealthily from behind the throng of trees, face obscured by haunting shadows. As I watched, transfixed, another person exited the tree line, coming to stand beside the first. Their hands were gnarled by their sides, twisting and untwisting as if they were desperate for something to do with them. My heart hammered as even more people emerged, stalking towards the oblivious people both inside and outside of their cars.
I told myself that there was no reason for me to panic. Logically, I knew that there was no rational reason for me to believe that these people were anything other than wandering travelers. Perhaps, like many others, they had gotten bored with sitting in their cars. Perhaps they had taken a walk, explored the woods, and abandoned their cars further down.
But there was something almost familiar in the way they walked; each movement was clunky, as if they were unfamiliar with walking or were forced to carry a heavy weight with them. Though I couldn’t see any facial features, their heads whipped from side to side with an almost startling intensity. It was only as one of them stepped further from his hiding spot, coming to stand beside a silver sedan, that I knew I wasn’t looking at a sane human.
I was staring at an army of Ragers.
“Guys,” I whispered huskily, unable to tear my gaze away from the horrific sight before me. People were finally beginning to realize what was happening.
I saw flailing arms, heard blood-curdling screams, and watched the Ragers cut through the assembled people.
I didn’t need to say anything else. All of the guys had their faces pressed against the glass windows, varying expressions of horror turning their faces pale.
“Holy shit,” Calax said, mouth agape.
Before I even processed what was happening, each of the guys pulled out a gun.
A freaking gun.
My mind was incapable of focusing on anything at that moment, let alone the weapons held expertly in each of their hands.
“Ronan, stay with Addie,” Fallon said before sliding out of the driver’s seat. I was too stunned, at first, to say anything as he walked towards the fight instead of away.
Everybody else was screaming, lunging back towards their cars with a blistering speed. I heard many locks click into place. Some were attempting to escape their car prison, but that only results in smashed car fronts and bumpers.
“What the hell are you guys doing?” I yelled, watching the rest of the guys exit the vehicle.
“Take care of her,” Asher warned, ignoring me, and Ronan nodded seriously.
They aimed their gun at the nearest Rager, now across the median, and fired. A half dozen bullets spliced through the Rager’s body, but he continued to run. It was only when Fallon raised his gun and shot directly at his forehead, did the monster fall.
My mouth felt impossibly dry, and my stomach churned.
Before I could warn him, I vomited across Ronan’s shoes.
That was the second time I had thrown up on him.
“Who the hell are you guys?” I said, my mind reeling. It suddenly occurred to me that I didn’t know the guys I was traveling with. Not really. I knew Calax, or at least, I thought I did, and I knew of Declan. The rest? They were enigmas. What type of people carried guns around with them and knew how to shoot them so effortlessly? What type of people would run into the face of danger instead of screaming in the opposite direction?
I couldn’t focus on the mysteries surrounding the boys, though, because my attention became stuck on a woman being mauled by a Rager. His long fingers dug into her neck as he swiped desperately, erratically. Blood and skin flew everywhere, darkening the white of a nearby car.
“Ronan,” I cried, shaking his arm. He glanced from where he was pursuing the opposite window, body tensed and hand tight over his gun, before he turned in the direction I was pointing.
He let out a series of curses. Indecision crossed his face.
